


Silence

by AeeDee



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Bruises, Cum Eating, Dark, Dominance, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masochism, Oral Sex, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeeDee/pseuds/AeeDee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prompt from the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/yj_anon_meme/">YJ anon meme</a>, for some smut involving Wally's motor-mouth tendencies. Roy figures out a way to keep him quiet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

Those firm hands pressing harshly into his jaw. One finger digging into his lip, hard enough to leave a bruise. And where every other one touches, pushing in below his chin and pressing along the sides of his mouth, he’s feeling the skin grow numb. But as he stares straight ahead, it’s not fear he feels.

This man could _crush_ him, with this hand. He knows just how to twist his neck, and kill him. Right here. Right now.

But it’s not fear he’s feeling at all.

Angry eyes; they stare back at him with a suppressed, caged fury. A fire deep within, reflections of distant streetlights illuminated inside them. Those lights and shimmers, shifting and breaking as he leans in closer, his breathing slow and heavy, slow and full of intent.

When he speaks, his voice is a hoarse growl, deep and rough. “You have something to say to me?”

Oh, how cruel. At this, Wally twitches involuntarily, as he tries to open his mouth and physically, absolutely _can’t_. He frowns instinctively, as it’s a feeling that’s extraordinarily uncomfortable and somewhat frightening.

This man. If he wanted to, he could snap his jaw. He could break it.

But he’s not afraid.

Wally twitches, and shudders a little, to try and free himself of the nervous energy. But that shake becomes a tremble, and once his hands start twitching, he can’t stop.

He can’t think clearly enough; the energy must be diverted somewhere. So he reaches out, and grabs hold of the first thing he can touch. The first thing within his reach-

That strong arm, that’s connected to those strong fingers. The scratched-up skin. Cut-up and bruised; his fingers graze against a patch of dried blood. His eyes widen as he notices just how _much_ of it there is. He must have been…

He tries to talk again, but that hand refuses to move. He’s losing feeling entirely in his lips, and the sensation is spreading upwards, across his face and toward his eyes. He closes them slightly, blinking to try and regain sensation, as his eyelids are going numb. And in mere seconds, he can’t feel them anymore. He stares ahead in awe, unable to believe the sheer _power_ of what’s happening to him.

And then, the hand lets go. It draws back. An instant sensation comes over his face, sparks of pain and heightened nerves. A persistent ache that hurts everywhere.

“You have something to say to me?” that man asks again.

But even though he can move his jaw again, he can’t feel or figure out what he’s doing. He can’t coordinate words. So instead he stares blankly ahead, vision scattered, mind overwhelmed. He’s somehow completely lost inside the moment and somewhere far outside it. He’s drifting in space.

He’s watching that man, with his angry eyes and his dominant stance. His straight back and his broad shoulders. His strong arms and his bloodied fingertips; but it’s not his blood. That blood was shed somewhere else. Someone else had to suffer for that.

It makes him _feel_ something. It turns his stomach. But he can’t yet speak properly, so instead he reaches out again, even further this time, taking one step forward. And with the second step, he’s leaning in, winding his arms around that firm chest, as that tense man continues to take those deep, slow breaths. He looks up, communicating as best he can. But emoting has never been his strong suit. He’s a talker. It’s what he does.

But Roy is not a fan of words.

There’s… There’s blood on his chest, as well. Not just his arms, or his hands. His chest… his face? As Wally starts to notice it, he traces his fingers against a red spot, as he starts to rub at it, noticing how coarse it is, how old. This, too, was from someone else. Someone ran into trouble long ago. Long before he arrived here on this rooftop.

It makes Wally _feel_ something. It makes him feel something horrible. Something sickening.

For his part, Roy knows. He’s not blind to reading his emotions. He can interpret his reactions. That’s the truth of it; that’s why he hates those words. Those empty, empty words. Because words are false. Words are misleading. Words bury these visible, physical signs. Words allow someone to forget their own instinct.

Someone like Wally; if something pleasant leaves his mouth, he finds it easier to pretend it’s true. Even when it isn’t.

Wally opens his jaw, and closes it once. The feeling is coming back. Just in time.

Roy’s hand again at his chin, but this time it’s not meant to hurt him. It’s not meant to be too heavy. Not yet. He’s just holding him still; to keep him in his place.

And when he leans in to kiss that bruised lip, Wally doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t pull back. He could, if he wanted to. If he wanted to, he could run away. He could run so far and so fast, Roy would never see him again.

But instead, he opens his mouth, as best he can. Clumsy as it is, awkward as it feels, with only half his sensation coming back. It creates a foreign, alien sensation; he can feel everything, but in a disjointed and unnatural way. The feeling of something _other_ brushing against his half-aware tongue; rough and coarse, a slow assault. And when he responds instinctively, he gasps without sound, eyes rolling back in pleasure as he starts to feel sparks dancing again, dancing through his face, sparking pain and agony that suddenly makes him aware of everything. He’s coming back to life.

His eyes are closing as he relaxes into that kiss, and for the first time, slows down to savor the feel of Roy’s tongue in his mouth, and those firm hands on his face, fingers stroking almost _delicately_ , so gently that he knows he’s destined for a rude awakening; and soon.

Roy likes to surprise him. He’s never admitted it out loud, but he enjoys the thrill. He likes to see his bruised skin. His weakened resolve. His desperate want showing on the surface. He likes to deprive him of what he wants-

Roy pulls back suddenly, leaving Wally gasping at the sudden rush of cold night air, as he slowly seals his lips shut again.

“Say one word,” Roy tells him, “And I won’t touch you again.”

And his reply: a single nod.

-

The pain is exquisite; this…

There’s a hard cock in his mouth, and it’s pushed back so deep, he can feel it hit against his throat. It’s a unique sensation, that’s unlike any he’s ever felt before.

Before, the thought of it was disgusting. Long ago … A time he couldn't even remember anymore.

A time before Roy came into his life. A time before Roy got angry and hit him for the first time. Even when he apologized, it was too late; he was already aroused. He was already wanting more where that came from.

Because it wasn’t just about the force in that hit, or the power inside that man. It was about the look on his face when he was _furious_ , when Wally was stupid enough to hit on his girlfriend. His first words to genuinely strike a nerve in him. “Hello, gorgeous.”

Wally didn’t regret that. She was beautiful. But Roy was even more breathtaking.

Because when he hit him, he watched in slow motion. He watched his whole body move; his entire chest turn, that arm in motion, those muscles shifting, those fingers clenching together. He’d never fallen for a man before, but it only took that single instant; that perfect snapshot in time, when that fist made contact with his face and struck in him a blow hard enough to make him bleed.

The image of the spots of blood on Roy’s hands. And the dark look in his eyes, that was angry, but more so… More than just anger, it was…

He’s thrusting his cock into him so hard, Wally couldn’t talk if he wanted to. He can barely even move. A strong hand wound into his hair keeps him firmly in place, as his mouth is being fucked mercilessly. Aggressively. Thrusts so hard they push him back; only slightly. Slightly but persistent enough to make his knees sore as they scrape against the pavement.

Above them, the night sky is growing darker by the minute. There’s not a sound for miles; nothing but the dirty, indistinguishably wet sounds of Roy’s dick sliding in and out, lubricated with Wally’s saliva as he pants and salivates with every thrust inside.

His eyes are rolling back again; he closes them, realizing he’s powerless to preserve his image to save face. He can’t act proud. Not right now. He’s completely hard. He’s so hard, he _hurts_. And when he reaches a hand down to touch himself, he’s not concerned about how shameless it looks. He doesn’t care how low, or degrading it is.

If anything, he wants Roy to be a little angry. Just a little. Just enough to send him over the edge.

But for now, he slides a hand inside his pants, cold fingers trailing down to his achingly erect cock, flinching from his own delicate touch as Roy continues to abuse his mouth. His tongue is being rubbed raw; all he can taste is the warmth of his flesh, and the heat it generates.

But he doesn’t just sit there; he never does. He does what he can. He does his best to wrap his tongue around that stiff cock, and he does what he can to caress it, to _taste_ it whenever possible. And when he slides a hand down the shaft of his own cock, he wonders what it would taste like. He wonders what _it_ would be like. He wonders if it would be anywhere half as magical and rough and smooth and sensual as this.

He starts to moan without realizing it; but Roy feels it. He frowns down at him, grinding his teeth and he curses, a stray “Fuck,” that escapes with little sound. Wally looks up at him, fascinated and spellbound by his reaction. And going from that, he continues. He indulges himself. He jacks himself off even harder, feeling the head of his cock hitting and straining against the fabric of his jeans, as drops of sticky pre-cum collect around his fingers. He moans more vocally, sounds that make his entire mouth vibrate, a wave of sound that makes Roy start to groan and sigh to himself, various sounds of discomfort.

Roy uses his free hand to reach down and fondle himself, caressing the base of his cock as he holds Wally still, completely still; he doesn’t thrust in or out; he just remains still.

Wally knows what that means. That eerie silence. That look of suspended stress on his face. He reacts accordingly.

With a final series of licks and caresses of his tongue around Roy's swollen cock, he feels it harden, feels it swell, feels it move. And he leans back, in time to catch hot spurts of liquid, warm and thick ejaculate that pours down his throat.

It makes him feel dizzy.

They’ve had sex before. But each time, it was nothing like this. Somehow, this is more intimate. Somehow, he finds it almost romantic.

Because there’s something _powerful_ about being a bitch for Roy’s cock. He can’t explain what it is. But every time he cums into his mouth, for a brief moment in time, he wants to die. Even without touching himself, he can almost come from the taste alone. Not because it’s what a man tastes like. Because it’s what _Roy_ tastes like.

This angry, powerful, intimidating, dominant man-

And when Roy pulls back, he swallows almost with a sensation of sadness. He always feels empty afterwards, but he never mentions it. He doesn’t want to bring down the mood. He doesn’t want to ruin Roy’s high.

Wally’s caught off-guard, when Roy immediately gets down onto his knees, and tugs down at the edge of his pants. And when the night air hits and gathers around his aching erection, he shivers, feeling strangely humiliated and even more aroused at the same time. This is it. This brings him close. Very close.

And the way Roy’s staring at him- No, not him. Not specifically.

He’s staring at his cock, as tells Wally solemnly, “Stand up.”

Wally’s in no mood to disagree. But that statement is oddly cryptic. He fleetingly imagines that Roy wants to watch him jack himself; an exciting prospect, but completely new. It makes him nervous. Slightly.

But when he stands before Roy, his erect cock only inches from his face, Roy does the unimaginable.

He opens his mouth, and moves in to suck him off. A firm mouth, with a strong tongue that molests his cock like it’s his property. He’s almost careless with it; forceful and assertive, he teases the shaft, grazes his teeth across his foreskin and sucks on the head, anything, _everything_ he can to make Wally shake more, his legs trembling, his face contorting into a grimace of pleasure and anxiety.

He lifts an arm to his face, and bites into the fabric of his sleeve, to keep from uttering or exclaiming anything out loud. Because he remembers what Roy said. _Say one word..._

But when Roy slides his entire cock inside his mouth… when he can feel Roy’s lips grazing across it, and the entire length of his tongue brushing coarsely as he takes it in-

" _God,_ " he whines.

And he freezes up. Immediately. He tenses. And for the first time, he’s afraid of Roy. Because Roy has the power, in this situation. Roy could move back, stand up, and walk away. Roy could leave, and never be seen again. Because Wally broke his promise. Because Wally, not even for something he wanted as badly as this, couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut-

Not giving a damn about his pride, he pleas for mercy, an overemotional outburst, “OhGod please don’t stop,” as he looks down at him with fearful eyes.

Roy pulls back; he pulls back, and looks up to stare right back at him.

“ _Please,_ ” Wally says one more time.

His entire body is shaking. His face looks… miserable.

Roy is many things, but he’s not cruel. For all his talk, he’s only ever done what Wally wanted. The kid just hadn’t realized it yet.

So he takes a quiet breath, and exhales, his breath teasing the dripping tip of the boy’s still very much erect cock. And he parts his lips, and kisses it with an open mouth, leaning forward as he moves back to where he was.

Wally shivers the entire time. He shivers and shakes, and when he comes, he cries out softly, a fragile, “ _Ah,_ ” that collapses into a gasp of breath. His heart thunders in his chest, and he can feel his blood rush; his skin is on fire and his mind is suddenly clear. He can see the night sky beyond the edge of the roof; he can feel the wind whispering in his ears; and more than anything, he can feel Roy’s gentle tongue, as he licks his cock the entire time, caressing it gently as he comes.

And when Roy pulls back this time, Wally’s unable to believe what just happened to him. He’s completely stunned. No, stunned isn’t exactly the right word. He’s thrilled.

But he’s afraid to get his hopes up too high. Afraid this is a one-time occurrence. Afraid that Roy will suddenly stand up, realize that he _hated_ what just happened, and leaves for good. The inevitable moment when Roy realizes he’s dealing with an immature little boy that reacts that strongly to a simple _blowjob_ , and that he gives nothing fulfilling in return and-

When Roy rises to his feet, the first thing he does is to grab Wally by the shoulders. He grabs him firmly, pressing down with enough pressure to make him flinch out of instinctive impulse. It’s not a sensitive pain, but a slow throbbing sensation, like the bones are slowly being crushed. He stares back at Roy, anxious. But he’s not afraid.

Roy doesn’t say a word. He leans in, with a familiar and strong intent written on his face. His eyes dark and unreadable, his expression neutral. He begins the kiss with a slight brushing together of his lips against Wally’s; it’s a contact that’s so gentle, the boy’s not sure what to do at first. But when Roy nudges against him a second time, he opens up accordingly. He parts his lips, and Roy doesn’t hesitate to slide his tongue inside. And _oh God_ , it is-

Because it’s not just a kiss. It’s an exchange. Spreading through his mouth, mixing with his spit, collecting against his tongue and being spread around is a substance that could only be-

Wally moans into it, his body shaking. If he hadn’t just come so incredibly hard, he would be itching to go at it again. He would be itching to be fucked, anything, _anything_ right now because there’s cum in his mouth, there’s cum in his mouth and it’s not Roy’s.

Wally reaches a hand up to the man’s chin, firmly pressing in to keep him still, to keep their connection intact as he tastes, licks and swallows, tastes and savors more and more, every drop of it that he can find. Roy, for his part, is incredibly patient; if anything, he helps him along, moving his tongue accordingly, to make room for Wally’s eager exploration.

When Wally drapes an arm over Roy’s shoulder, he reciprocates, pulling him into an embrace, his firm arms around his back, as he leans forward and allows the last of Wally’s cum to drip out of his mouth, and to the boy’s waiting tongue.

And the moment it’s gone, Wally’s fighting to catch his breath. He’s startled to feel himself in Roy’s embrace, noting that this, too, had never happened between them before. There was clearly a first for everything. But surprising as it was, it was not entirely unexpected. He had always wanted to believe they’d reach this point. To be this close.

Close enough to randomly meet in the night, and fool around like this; close enough to, when they’d find spare time, retreat to a spare room and have sex. Close enough to kiss, and trade kinks and explore new possibilities. Close enough to hurt and react to hurt, while knowing it was going to be okay.

“I won’t hurt you,” Roy had said some months ago, minutes before he took his virginity. “Not unless you want me to.” And of course, Wally had limits. He specified them. He was careful and deliberate about the explanation. Until finally Roy had murmured, “I’ve got it,” and kissed him to close his mouth.

When Roy hit him for that first time, on that night out on the town, several nights ago, now… Something happened, the instant after Roy hit him. Blood on his fingers, an expression of anger. There was something else in his face. Something in his eyes, and the way he looked at him. Dark, mysterious, somber; and overwhelmed with guilt.

Roy didn’t ever intend to hit Wally. But it was a happy accident that it, somehow, became a catalyst for their future. Because when Roy hit Wally, he realized that he never wanted to genuinely hurt him again.

He doesn’t mind inflicting pain. Pain, he could do. But only because Wally enjoys it. He cares too much for him, to let him be unhappy.

“Thank you,” Wally’s voice was a sleepy murmur, as he leaned his sore face against his broad chest. He closed his eyes, as he enjoyed the moment, reveling in the rhythm of his breathing, deep and slow.

Roy holds him just a little tighter, as he says, “Shh,” and kisses him on the face, just above a developing bruise.


End file.
